


Medûnost

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adoption, Bilbo is younger than fifty, Bífur backstory, Dwarf Culture Porn, Dwarf Culture and Customs, Dwarrow Kinship, Dwarven ones, Dwobbit Bilbo Baggins, Dwobbits, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Relationships - Freeform, Feelings, Frerin didn't die in Azunilbazar, Gen, Heirs, Hobbits, It's probably Gandalf's fault, Kin Leaver, M/M, Mahal - Freeform, Miscommunication, Multi, Oblivious Thorin, Other, Politics, Slight timeline AU, Yavanna - Freeform, aule - Freeform, fertility, meddlesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:14:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Medûnost:unbearded, beardless.There is more to Bilbo Baggins than meets the eye. Gandalf probably deserves the brunt of the blame.In which Dwarrow families work differently than any other race. Where kin are more important than any treasure, quest, or legacy; kin are your legacy.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been very difficult at the start, for Dwarves (ahem, Dwarrow) were incredibly different to Hobbits for all their kinship in matters of height.

Although, in Bilbo's defense, Gandalf ought to bear the brunt of this whole mess. Him and the whole business of "adventures". The Wizard had long since mastered the art of making miscommunication fall in his favor.

Bother and confusticate him, the wretch.

~~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Bilbo had initially been terrified when the first dwarf (Du-all-in??) had knocked on his door during dinner. And then the second, apparently a brother to the first, (Ball-in?) had shown up. A polite enough sort, but the strange greeting exchanged by his two Dwarrow guests (are they still guests if you've not invited them? Intruders seems too harsh a term....) fairly rattled his Hobbitish sensibilities. What few he actually had anyhow.

And then two more Dwarrow knocked, reminding him fiercely of his mother's kin and all the mischief that entailed. He wasn't certain it would manifest the same in Dwarrow rather than fauntlings, but these two (feely, and keyly?) had plenty of energy and no place to put it. Bilbo made a mental note to stow away the breakables.

But before he has the chance to do anything about the heirlooms on display, he was suddenly dealing with an armful of knives and swords and blades of various shape, size, and metal.

"Careful. Just had them sharpened."

Oh goody. 

"Nice place you've got here."

Is he...? "THAT'S my mother's glorybox!" With an irate huff he dumped the swords to scatter on his polished floor, and he stomped over to shove the darker Dwarrow from the treasured item. "It is not a bootscrape!"

The first two Dwarrow had joined the three already in the hall to see what all the fuss was about.

"Aye, Kílí-lad, you know better than to muck up another's belongings," said the shortest dwarf. "Help our host tidy up your mess now lad, wouldn't do to have tainted his mother's.... What did you call it, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo sighed as he supervised the dwarf named Kílí very carefully. "A glorybox; it's where my mother kept all the gifts my sire gave her during their courting."

All four Dwarrow seemed to deflate a touch at the news and Dwalin chided the youngest, "Aye, Kílí, make sure it is in pristine shape; it's not right to damage the courting gifts of a couple, no matter the race."

"I didn't mean to damage it! It looks just like the bootscrape Amad has! And I'm cleaning it, don't you fret, Master Boggins!! It'll be good as gold by the time I'm done!" And with that statement, the youngling bent to his task with renewed vigor.

The blonde dwarf who had arrived with him moved to help him. Balin made his way to their host. "I'm assuming that was the pictures of your Mother and Sire on the mantle, laddie? Will they be joining us tonight?"

Bilbo flushed. "No. I... That's my mother and father. They died... My father last winter and my mother the winter before."

A long stretch of silence filled the hall, before the youngest dwarves began working with greater effort. Then there was a series of heavy knocks from the front door.

"Oh, I didn't mean to... You've my condolences lad. I'll make certain the boys do a fine job of the work. Why don't you go on and get the door?" 

And so, to avoid further discussion of the uncomfortable topic, Bilbo made his way to the door and pulled it open. Only to be buried under a mountain of dwarves.


	2. Chapter 2

With a groan, Bilbo blinked and heaved himself forward as the pile of dwarves pulled themselves off him. He stood on shaky feet and twisted himself at the waist until his back cracked in three places. Releasing a sigh, he turned to face he horde of interlopers and found eight Dwarrow in separate stages of brushing themselves off and attempting to appear presentable.

Well, at least they had the decency to look ashamed.

"My dear Bilbo, allow me to introduce you to these fine Dwarrow: just there with the ear trumpet is Oin, the healer of our company, by his side with the large red beard is his brother, Gloin, both sons of Groin."

Bilbo coughed weakly, "Groin?"

"Just so. Now these dashing Dwarrow are Dori," a silver-haired dwarf bowed to Bilbo, who fretted a moment before returning the gesture, "Ori, our scribe", and here a rather young-looking dwarf who also appeared to have been swallowed by his over-large sweater, bowed to Bilbo, ginger braids dropping low as he did so and Bilbo hastily returned the bow, "and Nori." A startling tri-pointed head of hair bobbed as Nori peered at him, until Dori smacked the back of his head and Nori bowed shortly. Bilbo hesitated and discovered his mouth had fallen into a moue of distaste before he returned the bow and rose with a polite smile forcing his cheeks aside.

"This is Master Bífur," Gandalf gestured to a tall, piebald dwarf with... an axe head protruding from his brow! Bilbo recognized too late that he was rudely staring so he hastily matched the dwarf's bow, before anxiously straightening his dressing gown.

"His cousins, Bombur," a large ginger dwarf who would have fit right in at any Hobbit gathering, aside from his large, braided beard, "and Bofur." Now that was a face that sought mischief out with both hands, and apparently with both braids, as they stuck out on either side of his face as though he were a weather vane.

Bilbo returned their bows and offered a quiet, "A pleasure, I'm sure."

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

"I've had quite enough of Dwarves, thank you very much! And, Gandalf, I told you just this morning I had no interest in your adventures, so what was the meaning of all this..." Bilbo trailed off as he turned to take in the chaos of his dining room once more.

One of the dwarves was actually walking across the table his father had built. Stone-headed river rocks, the lot of them! "You know what my mother told you. No Dwarrow in this smial. Ever." Gandalf opened his mouth to argue but Bilbo interrupted, "No exceptions!"

"Now, Bilbo, they are a rather merry gathering, once you get to know them. I know better than most the hurt your mother suffered on account of your sire, but I promise you, no Dwarrow worth his salt would ever abandon kin."

Rough and barking words shattered the din of rowdy feasting. Bilbo and Gandalf turned to the table only to find the whole table staring at the dwarf bearing an axe head in his skull.

"What'd you mean, "kin-leaver", Bífur? No one here'd ever dream of such a thing!!" The Dwarrow all around were nodding heavily, stern expressions all around.

The axe-wounded dwarf grunted out more harsh dwarvish and gestured to the wizard and hobbit. Bilbo caught the sound of the letter "m" a lot, and far too many rough vowels for his poor ears to follow.

"What's this, Tharkûn, Master Baggins, what "kin-leaver" has got Bífur in such a state?" Asked a hatted dwarf with matching braids poking out straight from either side of his head and dangling mustache braids framing his mouth.

Bilbo sighed. Gandalf cleared his throat and stepped a little in front of Bilbo, "There will be time for all of that business later, but suffice to say the only first-hand knowledge our Bilbo has ever had with dwarves are from the tales he heard from his late mother, concerning a dwarf she presumed to be a kin-leaver."

The dwarves all began muttering amongst themselves, but Gandalf spoke again, "Now, Bilbo's mother was a very dear friend of mine, who shared several adventures with me. I'll not hear one word against her. She had her reasons for her accusations, and was well-founded in them. Now, we appear to be missing one of our number."

"Missing? There's another dwarf coming?" Bilbo spluttered.

"Aye, the great Thorin Oakenshield." Well, and didn't that sound like the least dwarvish name Bilbo had ever heard, it even beat Bilbo Belladonnason.


	3. Chapter 3

For a time, conversation died as the dwarves took Bilbo's chastisement as a joke and sang a clever ditty as they tidied up the leavings of their meal and sent the dishes flying overhead and underarm towards the kitchen. It took several moments for Bilbo to remind himself the dwarves meant no harm and that, indeed, no harm had been done, per se. He chuckled with the others, although not as loudly, in the aftermath of the song about him and his dishware.

With all the timing of a thunderbolt, two heavy knocks sounded on Bilbo's round, green door.

Marching out of his devastated dining room and pulled open the door, taking in the silhouette of a dwarf in a large fur coat against the full moon.

"Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce Thorin Oakenshield," the dwarf turned as Gandalf spoke and entered the smial. "The leader of our company. Thorin, this is Bilbo Baggins."

As abrupt as the rest of his companions, and even MORE rude, which was an honest surprise to Bilbo, Thorin Oakenshield planted his boots in a spot reserved in Bilbo's mental garden for the especially bothersome.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

In the end, Bilbo did leave his smial and race after the company, despite having no intention to do so until he heard that song. It was a song of home, and kin, and seeking out the hearth. If that wasn't something a hobbit could get behind, what was?

Bilbo often found himself in the company of Bofur, Fili, Kili, and Ori discussing different elements of Hobbit life:

"Do all Hobbits not wear boots then?"

"Why've you got your beard on your feet and not your face, Mister Boggins?"

"What was in your mother's glorybox?"

"Do all hobbits live in houses like yours? What about the houses along the town that looked like the houses of men?"

"Tell us about your family, Bilbo?"

"Why's it called Bag End?"

"Why do you call children 'kits' and 'faunts' and 'fauntlings'?"

"Any lasses waiting for you back in the shire, Master Boggins?"

"You have how many cousins???"

"A Thain isn't a king because why, again?

"Tell us about your Mother and father, Bilbo? Did he really give her all those gifts in the glorybox AND build Bag End?"

It was here that Bilbo drew the line. "I already told you, those courting gifts were from my sire, not my father."

Fili reared back as though struck by the barbs in Bilbo's tone. But he leaned right back in to ask, "Your sire isn't your father?"

"Well, no. I," Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "I'm terribly sorry for snapping, but I'm used to everyone knowing. My father wed my mother shortly before I turned one, when it was clear my sire had no intention of returning to the Shire, or my mother."

"What." Fili's eyes were steel-sharp and Bilbo really didn't think he could ever recall seeing the young dwarf so stern.

"Yes, that's what Gandalf and I were discussing, about kin-leavers, I think Bofur called it."

"Aye," Fili answered shortly.

"Well. My mother was quite the adventuress in her day, as I've said. And one day she drew the eye of a rather handsome, or so she tells me, dwarf, and-"

Kili interrupted, "Your sire is dwarf?"

"Well, yes. As I was saying, mother met him and the two courted for some time, and clearly tumbled about as well. My sire soon told my mother he had to return to his kin, but that he would return the following spring. Well, it wasn't clear before he'd gone that I was on the way. Mother said he had always seemed the type to be delighted, but well. After the harvest, I was born and given my mother's name, "Belladonason". Well, as I've said, my sire never came back. And the following yule, my mother wed Bungo Baggins, giving the three of us a family, a home, and giving me a father's name."

Bilbo sighed and looked out at the wilds around them. "I couldn't have gotten a better father than Bungo in the deal; for all his respectable Baggins traits, he encouraged me in my wildness and fostered in me a great love of maps and learning languages. He gave me more than his name and the home he built. It was my father who taught me to walk, and who taught me all the skills I've practiced my whole life. I inherited Bag End from him when he passed away, as well as his duties."

"And you never heard from the kin-leaver, your sire?"

"Not once, Fili. Mother didn't even want me to know his name, but father insisted after... Well, after."

"And?" Both Fili and Kili were staring at him expectantly.

"What will it mater, lads? It was more than forty years ago, I hardly expect-"

"FORTY!" Kili nearly unseated himself from his pony as he reared back in shock.

"Well, yes... I will be turning forty-one this September, what is-?"

"You're only forty years of age?" Fili asked, stunned.

"Well, yes but Hobbits come of age at thirty-three."

"But you just told us you're half-dwarf. And dwarves aren't of age until seventy-five."

"Seventy-five! Why I never. I've been on my own for almost a year now and have been running the smial and my father's business all on my own, thank you very much. I am quite of age."

The looks of discomfort which crossed the faces of the heirs of Durin did not imply their agreement.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

It wasn't until they made camp that night that the issue was brought to the attention of the rest of the company. "Bilbo is a half-dwarf!" Klii announced.

"And his sire is a kin-leaver who never returned for Bilbo's mother!" Fili added.

"And Bilbo is only forty!" Kili finished.

Chaos ensued. Gloin, Bombur, Nori, and Balin were cornering Gandalf to get answers about sending such a young thing out without concern. Dori, Bifur, and Ori pushed closer to the little dwobbit and offered him their condolences and assured him he had only to ask and the company would make sure he was cared for. Thorin, Dwalin, and Bofur sat staring blankly at Bilbo for long minutes.

"But, you're so young..." Bofur began. "What are you doing out here with us?"

"And who's this excuse for a sire who never came back for you and yer ma?" Dwalin growled.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. It had to have been at least an hour since he had been attempting to explain the (personal and private, thank you VERY MUCH!) situation to his dwarven companions, but they seemed too preoccupied with riling each other up to bother listening.

Bilbo heaved himself to his feet. "Would you all just shut up!" he yelled, and paused to gauge the reaction. "Good. Now, if we could all just keep our heads, I'll explain." He huffed and shook his head, "All this fuss," he muttered.

He resumed his seat and lit his pipe. Puffing a few times to get settled into his preferred story-telling mode, he gazed at the dwarves who had formed a semi-circle about him. "Well. I suppose I won't start quite at the beginning, but with my understanding of the whole tale. If that suits?" He glanced around and noticed Balin elbow Thorin sharply. "Ahem," he tried to hide his grin behind his pipe. "Well, I grew up very loved by my mother, Belladonna Took, and her husband, the man I knew as "Father", Bungo Baggins."

"My parents gave me every thing I could ever need, and quite a few things I wanted. But, they could not hide the fact that I wasn't quite like the other faunts. So, while the other children my age had grown into tweens, I was still much shorter and quite behind in many matters. It wasn't too large a gap, to be fair, but it was enough. Enough for the other faunts to take note and ostracize me, and enough for me to ask my parents what was wrong with me." Bilbo inhaled deeply from his pipe before continuing, "So, that day my mother and father told me that my father wasn't my sire. My mother spoke of her adventuring days spent wandering the Shire, Bree-town, and several surrounding points of interest. She even went to Rivendell! But, what she chose to share with me then was that she had met my sire on one of these wanders. It would have been forty-two years ago now."

Bilbo looked over to the fire pit. "She told me of a dwarf with hair like wheat in summer sunshine, eyes the color of rich soil, and a laugh that shone brighter than a night under the Party Tree." Bilbo grinned to himself as he recalled his mother's face during that conversation.

"Anyway, she explained that she had been swept along in her fancy of this brave, dwarven warrior with gentle smiles and ready laughs. The day they met, he made promises to her, called her his one, and gave her a bead."

"What?" Dori's voice covered the others. "His bead?"

"She must've been his One for him to propose like that!" Ori chimed in.

"I'm sorry?" Bilbo asked. "Mother mentioned that, in her tale, but what is a One?"

Bofur was ready with an answer, "Well, it's your soulmate, lad. The One Mahal crafted just for you."

"The other half to your soul," Gloin added, raising his hand to grip a locket beneath his great, red beard. "Your intentionally created wife, or husband."

"So romantic," sighed Bombur.

"Oh," Bilbo said. "Well, anyhow, they got to flirting and whatnot, and at some point during all this, conceived me." A few cheeks reddened, but the dwarves silently encouraged their burglar to continue his story.

"Well, shortly after that, this dwarf received a summons. His king needed him, he told my mother, and so he must go. He urged her to return to the Shire and promised to return for her before fifteen months had passed. So he left and Mother went back to the Shire. It wasn't long before people took note of her growing waistline, and while beads might mean proposals or promises to dwarves, they aren't any such things to Hobbits, so to all the shire, it appeared as though my mother had been abandoned or cast aside. And tongues really got wagging after I was born, or so I'm told. I was large for a hobbit babe, and had hair across my cheeks and bare feet. You can imagine the response, I'm sure."

As the dwarves murmured, he hemmed and hawed around his pipe stem, girding himself for this last bit. "Well, by the time I was one, my mother said she knew my sire would not be returning. She and my father Bungo were good friends, if an unlikely pair. He had been one of the few outside her kin to defend her reputation concerning her pregnancy, and he always asked for more stories of her time adventuring. He loved map-making, my father, and worked with her to sketch several charts of her travels."

He grinned at the faces around him. "They were never more than friends, but they loved each other's company. And, when I came along, my father built Bag end for my mother and me. I think that caused her to propose to him, once she realized my sire wouldn't be returning to her. So, they had a wedding, and raised me. I doubt I could have had better parents."

"When, when my mother passed away, two years ago now, it broke my father's heart. Suddenly he didn't have his best friend and I don't think he quite knew how to function after that. He still went through the motions with me, but he did little else. Except, before he died, he gave me the details my mother hadn't. Like my sire's name."

Bilbo blew a smoke ring before letting his sire's name float off his tongue after it, "Frerin."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the "Bifur backstoy" tag comes in.

"Frerin."

Many of the dwarrow reared back as though Bilbo had struck them. "Oh," he coughed, "do you know him?"

"Know him?" Thorin choked, "Of course we know him! Do you-!" Thorin abruptly stood and stomped over to Bilbo, coming to kneel at his feet. After a long, very uncomfortable for the Hobbit, tense minute, Thorin's face creased into a smile. "You have his eyes."

"Oh." Were those tears tracking down Thorin's face?

It was only with their sudden silence that Bilbo realized the other dwarves had been murmuring.

"Frerin is my brother, Bilbo."

What.

"You are my brother's son, my nephew. Cousin to Fili and Kili, and kin to the majority of the company."

This was apparently all the invitation Fili and Kili needed to leap into action and the two launched themselves at the half-dwarf, half-hobbit, newfound cousin.

"Irak’Nadad" Fili whispered into Bilbo's curls. Kili echoed him moments later. Bilbo stared at Thorin, still kneeling before him, certain his stunned expression had to reflect some of Thorin's own.

"What?" His hands spasmed, dropping his pipe, and came to wrap around the dwarves--cousins?--on either side of him.

Thorin moved forward and enclosed the three of them, his nephews in an embrace. That was when the cheering began. And when Bilbo began crying. It took the three dwarves a few minutes to notice, and then to pull back slightly to investigate. "Bilbo?"

Bilbo looked at the Dwarven King's face, afraid to look away, choking back sobs as he let the tears run down his face in twin rivers. "Um, do you. Ahem, that is. Why? Can you. Do you know why he never came back?"

"Oh, Bilbo." Thorin's face broke from a grin to a desperate expression, blue eyes wide.

Bilbo sniffed, uncaring of the state of his emotions, and focused completely on his... uncle. "Why didn't he come back for my mother? I know he didn't know about me, but. Why didn't he come back."

Thorin's only response was to pull Bilbo more tightly to him. Fili and Kili pulled back to sit beside their uncle but held Bilbo's hands firmly in their own. "Uncle Frerin," FIli started. "He was coming back from, well, the Shire, I guess, because Thorin needed him. And then, he paired up with more dwarves returning to Ered Luin after seeking work in the settlements of Men."

"Which was a good thing too. One of those dwarves was Bifur," Kili interjected, pointing at the pie-bald dwarf. Bilbo pulled back from Thorin's grip to meet Bifur's gaze. The dwarf grunted a long sentence, or possibly several sentences, in Khuzdul before gesturing to the axe in his skull and bowing.

Thorin cleared his throat, and BIlbo's gaze returned to him. "Do you see Master Bifur's axehead, Bilbo? It is of dwarven make. My brother and the other dwarves were set upon by another dwarven clan, one that has long held enmity with the Longbeard and Braodbeam clans, the Firebeards. Bifur recieved that very injury defending Frerin."

Bilbo turned to look back at Bifur, eyes mapping the patterns of the axehead, noticing it's features for the first time. "Oh." Bilbo turned back to Thorin. "Did he...?"

"No," Kili said quickly. "Uncle Frerin is alive, but he was injured terrribly."

He glanced over at Fili who added, "We were very young at the time, but I remember when they brought him home. He took forever to wake up."

"He is recovered now," Thorin spoke up. "But he cannot walk, and he has no memories of the entire year prior to the ambush. He did not go back to your mother because he did not have any memory of her."

"And," Kili asked, "you said she... she is dead?" His voice seemed very small, Bilbo thought, his thought swirling madly in his mind like the river during the spring rains.

"Yes," Bilbo whispered. Silence blanketed the campsite for a short time, but the Durins did not move away from their newfound kin. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Shh, Bilbo. Hush, irakdashat." Thorin's voice was pitched low, reminding Bilbo of the lovely song that had filled his home, a prayer to go home.

"Um, Thorin." Bilbo looked down at his hair-topped Hobbit feet and asked, "Would he want me, even though I'm half-Hobbit?"

"Want you?" Thorin all but bellowed, anger crossing his face.

"Irak'Adad!" Fili yelled at Thorin, before moving forward and filling the gap he left behind. "Of course he would want you, Bilbo! Irak'Adad Frerin would love to meet you!"

"He's always wanted to be an Adad," Kili added. "And to learn that his inudoy was also the child of his One?"

"He will be sad at the passing of your mother, Bilbo," Thorin finally said. "But he will love you, the moment you meet."

"Speaking of," Balin interrupted, a blunt reminder of the rest of the company's continued prescence, although Bilbo noticed that all the dwarves were smiling, and most appeared to be crying. "What are we going to do about this new development. We cannot exactly send Frerin's son in to steal from Smaug."

"No!" yelled Kili, wrapping himself around his newly-discovered cousin.

"You can't send him in to face a dragon! He's only forty!" Fili added.

A fresh wave of silence descended over the camp, and the dwarves returned their gazes to Bilbo. "I told you, Fili, I'm of age by Hobbit standards."

"But not dwarven standards." Thorin's voice was as absolute as a cliff face. "You would perhaps not be the equivalent of a forty year old dwarfling, but you would be considered not yet of age."

"Especially after Irak'Adad Frerin officially claims you!" Kili chimed in.

"Yeah, how old would you say our dwobbity cousin is, Gandalf?" Fili tossed to the wizard sat on the outskirts of the group.

"Oh, well, I... Hmm," Gandalf splutered. "I suppose I'd say he would be near sixty years of age, by dwarven standards."

"My own wee Gimli is older than you!" Gloin's protest drowned out all the other cries of disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irak’Nadad-Cousin  
> Irak’Adad-Uncle  
> Irakdashat-Nephew  
> Adad-Father  
> Inudoy-Son


	6. Chapter 6

Dwarven families were a most serious business, Bilbo soon discovered. The entire quest had been put on hold and the company had started marching back the way they came. Bilbo hadn't noticed the change in direction right away, but when he saw the oak tree that looked rather lewd, he knew they must have circled around because there was no way there existed two such trees in middle earth, was there?

"Thorin?" he called out.

His new-found uncle turned back with a small grin, "Yes, irakdashat?"

Bilbo tilted his head at the odd name, nephew, Fili had translated it the other night. "Have we already been here?"

Thorin pulled up his horse, causing Bungo to toss his head in frustration. "Did you not hear our discussion last night?"

Bilbo blushed, "I... I think I fell asleep."

Thorin's features relaxed. "Aye, it was an exhausting revelation to be sure. A full night's rest was more than well-deserved, Bilbo." Thorin turned to face their path before continuing, "We are returning to the Blue Mountains. Erebor will be made ours, but not with my nephew as the burglar, and certainly not before you and my nadadith are reunited."

Bilbo contemplated this. "But, but you said the people... I thought... Isn't it more important to reach the mountain as soon as possible?"

Thorin murmured something in Khuzdul before sighing, "I had forgotten how curious Kili was in his late fifties. Yes, Bilbo, it is important that we return to the mountain, and soon. But we can begin next year, and start fresh. Finding you is a more precious discovery than recovering the Arkenstone, irakdashat."

Bilbo nodded, with no little disbelief and allowed his pony Minty to fall back.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

The journey took the company past the edges of the Shire and Bilbo brought up the question or returning to his smial to gather some things, such as his mother's portrait and the bead his sire gave her. Eventually, once Bilbo brought up informing his hobbit family relations of his journey, the dwarves agreed.

"So your mother's father is the Thain," Fili asked.

"That's the one that's a king only he isn't, right?" Kili verified.

Bilbo sighed and ignored both of his cousins. Cousins. On his sire's side.

Bilbo was still trying to wrap his head around that. His sire hadn't abandoned his mother, or to a lesser extent, him. His sire's family readily claimed him.

Bilbo had truly never anticipated an outcome like this. He was preparing to meet his sire, the dwarf he had never met, but felt slightly familiar with, in a left-handed fashion from his mother's tales. And now, every fireside tale revolved around Frerin: the young rascal, the "funnest" uncle, the golden prince, the loyal friend, and the laughing dwarf. With each night of story-telling, and each day of sharing his childhood stories with the company, Bilbo felt the excitement growing and expanding within him.

Finally, loaded up with his handkerchiefs and his mother's glory box, her portrait nestled safely within, Bilbo posted a letter to the Thain, and tucked a second in the Gamgee's mail slot as the dwarves continued on their path to Ered Luin.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Ered Luin rose in the distance, a squat row of blue-tinted mountains. They stayed blue for a good long time as well, but the closer they arrived, the more a green and grey and brown seemed to overwhelm the mountains, starting from the foothills and moving up as if the blue slowly leached into the sky.

Bilbo was excited, he'd never seen a dwarven city and his friends kept sharing stories of their home, colored with pride at their ability to craft the best from any situation.

"There she is, little prince," Balin cheered. The moniker had come from Nori of all people and had stuck ever since. "Ered Luin, the halls of the dwarves of the Blue Mountains. And the current home to your kin."

The party made camp for the night in the foothills, ready to press on into the city with the dawn. Songs surrounded their campsite, and quiet conversations concerning reunions with family members. Gloin was the most vocal and insisted that after he met Frerin, of course, of course, he must meet little Gimli! Bilbo had laughingly agreed and now lay to sleep, stomach knotting as he contemplated meeting his sire for the first time.

Fili and Kili, even in slumber, seemed to pick up on their little cousin's distress, and each rolled closer, squashing him between them. Somehow, it helped, and Bilbo was soon fast asleep, dreaming of dancing under the Party Tree with dwarven boots on his large feet.


	7. Chapter 7

Bilbo woke in the early pre-dawn, feeling barely rested. He walked out of the camp to relieve himself before returning to tidy his bedroll and pack his things. He finished all this in short order and began poking at the banked fire to increase it for a hearty breakfast. Except that he couldn't tell whether or not he had an appetite.

Scrunching his nose, he continued with his tasks and kept busy, trying to ignore the rising anxiety simmering in his gut. By the time all the dwarves were fed, the camp packed up, and the company loaded on horseback, that simmer was at a low boil.

By the time he was passing through the outer gate, that low boil was bubbling over. His hands were clammy and his upper lip and brow were coated in a fine sheen of sweat. His lower lip was white from being pressed against his teeth to keep it from trembling, and his left foot kept tapping against his mount's side, leading her slightly astray from the column as they rode through the city.

It really was a city. Nothing like the shire, and nothing like he had imagined. There were streets, and houses, and market stalls, and shops. Pens for livestock were levels above the forges and tanneries. and above that were the bulk of the residencies. Homes all stacked in rows, like dwarven seeds planted in a row of earth, carved out from the walls of the mountain itself.

Bilbo found his anxiety surging like gusts of wind through the corn fields before harvest, just when the wind died down,the stalks slapped back at him, rough edges scratching his soft skin. His anxiety would take the back burner, simmering again as he stared up, flabbergasted, at the arched ceiling several fathoms above him, only to return as he heard several members of the company call out greetings to dwarrow in passing.

The company climbed even higher, and Bilbo waited for the houses to improve, or even begin to look different. That never happened.

The lodging their group finally gathered before appeared no different, from the outside, than the housing one level above the animal pens. Although, the smell was different. Improved, and the view... Bilbo dismounted and walked to the edge of the road and looked down at Belegost.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Balin asked from the dwobbit's elbow.

Bilbo nodded silently. "Bilbo." Fili's call invited him to make his way to stand between the blond and brunet dwarves close to a low door. Thorin knocked on the door and called in his booming, commanding voice, "Dis, Frerin," into the house.

A scuffle sounded in the residence and the wooden door was pulled in, "Nadad? What's wrong? Fili? Kili?" A dam, it had to be a dam, stood in the doorway, staring at the gathered company, noting Bilbo's presence but counting her way through the company. "What happened to make you turn back, brother?" Her light blue eyes returned to her brother. The dam had Kili's face, but silver hair and silver mustache with the finest pair of sideburns Bilbo had honestly ever seen. Some hobbits in the Stoor clan would bemoan their ability to never acquire that level of mutton-chop glory.

"A family matter, namadith." Thorin stepped forward and bowed his head to his sister's. "Where is Frerin, he must hear this, too, for it concerns him."

Dis pulled away to stare at her brother for a long moment before replying, "He should be finished with his soak, I'll check that he is... appropriately dressed for company." She directed her next words to the company at large, "Come in, come in."

Fili and Kili stepped forward to help their mother and shared a tight hug with her before joining her at the back of the house. Thorin and Dwalin began directing the remaining company members to the available seats or empty floor spaces.

In the few minutes it took the four dwarves at the rear of the house to return, Bilbo's anxiety had morphed into full-blown panic and his lungs seemed to no longer breathe air properly.

"Bilbo," Thorin whispered, coming to kneel before his nephew. "Breathe with me, in and out. That's it. In and out. You have nothign to fear, here, irakdashat. In and out."

It was the sight of Thorin comforting the hobbit that greeted Dis, Fili, Kili, and Frerin, who was borne in his nephews arms and settled into an armchair beside the hearth. "Nadad," Frerin called, delight at his return and concern coloring his voice.

Thorin stood and moved to embrace his youngest sibling, allowing Bilbo to take in the sight of his sire. Frerin had hair lighter than Bilbo's own, and eyes the same color, as Thorin had proclaimed. The dwarf's legs were very thin, from what Bilbo had been able to see. Bilbo saw scars on the tops of Frerin's knees, but couldnt see anything else around his strange wardrobe.

The two brothers puled apart, and Frerin chuckled. "Not that I am not pleased to see you again brother, nephews, my friends, but why have you come back so soon? You cannot even have reached the Misty Mountains?"

There was a moment of silence in which Bilbo felt he might throw up all over the nicely cleaned stone floor.

"Frerin," Thorin began, "do you remember anything of the time before your injury?"

"Nadad," Dis cut in, but Frerin stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Bits and flashes, but nothing I can hold onto for more than a few moments. Why?"

Thorin reached out a hand to Bilbo who stepped forward, hands suddenly shoved in his pockets to ensure that he still had the bead. He did. Bilbo sighed and tugged the bead from his pocket and held it out to Frerin.

"But.... But this is mine?" The blond dwarrow asked.

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "And it was given, a little more than forty years ago, to a Hobbit lass, who passed it onto the son she also received from that dwarf."


	8. Chapter 8

"What?" Frerin's flabbergasted voice rolled around the room,

Bilbo stepped forward. "Her name was Belladonna."

"Bel..." Frerin began before trailing off. Everyone gathered around remained silent in the hope that Frerin would recall more.

The blond dwarf stared at the dwobbit for several long minutes as the wood in the hearth cracked. Bilbo cleared his throat and continued, "She was a hobbit named Belladonna Took. She, well, she was a Took. And that meant she wandered. She traveled with her father's friend, Gandalf, but not always. She was returning from Rivendell to the Shire, where hobbits live, when she met... you." Bilbo coughed quietly. 

Frerin was gazing at the hobbit before him, unblinking. Dis was peering at this being with apparent distrust, but her eyes kept glancing between the lad and her brother, seeming to form a connection.

Bilbo rushed through the pile of words tumbling from his brain to his tongue. "She told of how she met a dwarf who's laugh filed her with more light than the festivals under the Party Tree in Hobbiton. He had eyes the color of soil ripe for planting, which winked with mischief just right for wooing a Tookish wife. His hair, she added, reminded her of harvest seasons in late evening, with a heavy sun setting over a full field ready for tilling, and the leaves of every tree dropping like goldenrod dancing in the wind."

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniff sounded from closer to the door, and if it also sounded remarkably like Gloin, it went ignored. "Belladonna and this dwarf, whose name was Frerin, spent several months together. He even put his bead in her hair." Bilbo slipped the bead into Frerin's slack hand, watching the large dwarven fingers grasp the small bit of metal.

"Which apparently is akin to a marriage declaration for dwarves. It doesn't mean that for hobbits, but I know Belladonna was ready to wed her dwarf when he was called back. His kin needed him. So he sent Belladonna back to the Shire, where he would come for her in a little more than a year's time. And so he left."

Frerin's hand tightened to white knuckles and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "And I did not return," he whispered low.

"No," Bilbo agreed. He sighed and then knelt before the seated dwarf. "Her dwarf never returned. And then, after a few months, it was clear that she not only been abandoned, but that she was pregnant."

"WHAT." Frerin's call echoed through the stone chamber almost without sound.

"She was pregnant, and unwed, which Hobbits frown upon," Bilbo continued, trying to finish the story before he lost his courage. "She continued to say that her dwarf would come back. But by the time the babe had been born and was a few months old, it became obvious that whatever the reason, her dwarf was not returning. During her pregnancy a friend of hers, who had stood to her defense against the gossip and prejudice, had built a home for Belladonna and her babe to live in until the dwarf came. When he didn't come, Belladonna proposed to that hobbit. Together, Belladonna and Bungo Baggins raised her son... Bilbo Baggins."

Dis' eyes flew wide with recognition, but Frerin's gaze stayed steady on the hobbit before him.

"Belladonna and Bungo revealed to their lad the truth of his sire, but never told him a name or anything to go on, until after... Until after Belladonna died."

Frerin collapsed back in the chair. "She's dead?" he asked, voice shaking.

Bilbo nodded sadly. "Winter before last. And Bungo died this past Winter."

"And... My...My son?" The word sounded alien on Frerin's tongue.

Bilbo found he had no more words, they'd all scrambled away from him. It was Thorin who spoke up, "Your son has come home, nadadith. I present to you, Bilbo Baggins, Frerinul."

Frerin pushed himself forward in his chair, and leaned to look into Bilbo's eyes. It was a long moment before Frerin whispered, "Oh, inudoy."

Bilbo felt something inside his chest snap free, and he wept in earnest, burying his face in his sire's chest, feeling the dwarf's arms envelop him for the very first time.


End file.
